


The Taste of Sweetness Lingers

by stopmopingstarthoping



Series: Hope's Kinktober 2019 [6]
Category: Kushiel's Legacy - Jacqueline Carey, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Anal Sex, Bondage, M/M, Masochism, Oral Sex, Prostitution is Sacred, Sadism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 00:31:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21205739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stopmopingstarthoping/pseuds/stopmopingstarthoping
Summary: Lukas nó Valerian, an adept in the Court of Night-Blooming Flowers, requests a private assignation from another adept, Étienne nó Mandrake.  They share an evening and the potential for something more. "Love as thou wilt" has never sounded so sweet.





	The Taste of Sweetness Lingers

Lukas stepped into the Mandrake adept’s private rooms with anticipation. His partner for the evening was turned away, busying himself with something at the far wall, and Lukas waited in the doorway. Lukas was not awkward, nor nervous; he was trained to wait (and serve, if necessary) with grace, and he knew what to expect, so there was no anxiety in the pause.

“Please, come in. I’m just finishing this; I won’t be a moment.”

He made Lukas come to him, despite it being Lukas who had requested tonight's assignation. He waited a beat, clearly enjoying the suspense, and then turned, shaking long, unbound hair back from his shoulders and flicking eyes up; further up than he expected to, clearly. The beautiful adept's deep hazel-green eyes did not speak to his half-Shahrizai heritage, but the pale skin contrasted with glossy black hair did. His coloring was set off by sparkling topaz teardrops dangling from one earlobe, faceted jet from the other. His posture, though, was all Mandrake training. He was at once at ease and coiled to spring. 

Lukas approached him with a light smile, taking his own enjoyment in the surprise it evoked in turn. He knew that those who requested a night with adepts of Mandrake House frequently had retiring or unassuming manners, and Lukas was prepared to play that part if it was what a patron desired, but it was not his true nature. He was also well aware of his own imposing size, and the fact that it was not typical of those of his House. Not unheard of, certainly, but Lukas well knew that between his height and the breadth of his shoulders, he looked powerful. 

And he was. 

But tonight was his, and desire for this man had been burning its way into Lukas' brain since they danced at a masque at Cereus House a few weeks ago. 

Easy and open, he stepped over and offered the kiss of greeting. Étienne nó Mandrake ran eager fingertips over Lukas' biceps. 

"That which yields is not weak, indeed. You are prepared to submit to me tonight?" Étienne's eyes widened and his head tipped to the side, and Lukas was stricken by his effortless beauty. 

"You read the contract." A teasing, fearless answer, but then, Lukas' fearlessness had always set him apart from his fellow Valerian adepts as well.

He had his _ signale_; why should he fear? Unless, of course, that was what was needed to titillate a patron. But tonight, it was Lukas who was the patron, and he need affect no such pretense. 

Truth be told, there were not many people Lukas feared. Raised in the Night Court, bathed in luxury and protection, and taught grace and beauty—fear, or the semblance of it, was something Lukas had needed to learn. 

He wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of a Cassiline Brother, of course; any sensible person feared a weapon aimed to kill. 

But one merely meant to wound, or to wreak slicing, delicious pain? Lukas was no _ anguisette_, to draw only pure pleasure from pain, but he did not wear three-quarters of a beautifully tattooed spray of flowers wreathed in chains across his back for nothing. He'd been plucked as a youth for training in Valerian house, despite being born to Églantine and subject to that House's claim on his rich, clear voice and skilled hands with the lute. 

No, due in large part to his sheer size, Lukas' beauty lay in offering restrained strength, not shrinking weakness. His patrons took joy in dominating someone like him, and despite his untraditional manner, Lukas was a Valerian adept to the bone. He had used his _ signale _ only a handful of times. Once that had been the point, and Melisande Shahrizai herself had driven home to him the importance of knowing his limits. He still remembered that evening with a shiver, thinking about the efficient speed with which she'd sliced open his resistance to get at those limits, faster than Lukas had thought possible. 

The man in front of him carried the same seductive threat in his smile. "I remembered you from the masque when the request came in. I am flattered that you wanted to see me again, and delighted that you wish to partake in some of Kushiel's harsher pleasures with me."

Lukas' fingers slid over the hands on his arms. "I would like very much for you to show me Naamah's grace."

One of those hands moved up to Lukas' shoulder, resting heavily on the base of his neck. 

"Your _ signale_?" 

It had been in the contract, and Lukas knew he knew. But there was an edge of excitement to the question, and it was an unmistakable sign that they were to begin. 

"Cinnamon." 

Étienne gripped Lukas' neck roughly and forced him to his knees. 

At the look of abject joy and expectation that crossed Lukas' face, Étienne leaned down and kissed him roughly. Lukas responded immediately, only to be left open-mouthed when Étienne abruptly swept away to collect his tools from the shelf behind him.

“I wonder,” Étienne pondered, admiring one tool after another as he plucked them from their neat leather case and laid each on the bed, “if it is the infliction of pain or the denial of pleasure that is truly the sweeter torture for you?” His smile was laced with sharp anticipation, and Lukas simply closed his mouth and sat _ abeyante _ on the floor, silent and waiting.

Inwardly, Lukas thrilled. He’d known that this sinuous, clever man would take his measure eventually, but he hadn’t expected it so immediately. He simply met Étienne’s gaze in quiet expectation.

A gorgeous chuckle escaped a slim white throat as Étienne slid on a pair of black leather gloves that he’d removed from the case. “My, you _ are _well-trained.” One finger slid along Lukas’ jaw and under his chin.

His breath quickened, and Lukas could see Étienne react to his interest with the tiniest expression around his eyes. Étienne leaned down gently, a little closer but not quite touching him.

“What are your limits, lovely Lukas nó Valerian? Can you tell me about the things you love most, as well? I _ need _ to know what you do not want, but I _ want _to know what you most deeply desire.”

Lukas could already tell that his next words would place the sharpened knife of his pleasure in the hands of a skilled assassin. He paused, and swallowed, and while he was piecing together an answer, a leather-clad thumb traced over the skin of his lips, making them tingle.

“My apologies, I was distracted by your beauty. Please continue.” The topaz glint of candlelight reflecting off jet-black waves pulled Lukas’ glance to the side, and he took a moment to refocus before responding.

"May I make a request?" 

A pleased smile danced around Étienne's lips, and he hummed in response. "You may." 

"I have…few limits, and you've read them all." 

Étienne nodded, silently, waiting. 

Lukas felt himself blush, which was strange given the intimate, vulnerable nature of his work. He supposed it was different when he himself gave voice to his own deepest desires. 

"My most-loved nights are the ones when pleasure and pain have mingled. I know some prefer one and then the other, but... There is an Aragonian drink, do you know it? It is made with bitters but also sugar, and you can taste both in each sip." 

He could tell the effect that saying all this from the floor, with his legs still folded under him, had on the Mandrake adept.

Surprisingly, Étienne knelt to face Lukas, mirroring his pose. His eyes, which Lukas could see glittered from amber at the center to emerald at the outer rim, danced with anticipation, and then determination. He leaned forward for another kiss, this one soft and tender, despite Etienne’s gloved hand bracketing the front of Lukas' throat. His other hand loosened the fastenings of the white shirt Lukas had worn. The fabric was simple but finely woven, and the delicate embroidery spilling down the front was typical of Valerian House— a barely discernible pattern of white on white, impeccably detailed, but only if one chose to look. 

They were closer in height here on the floor, and Etienne leaned in to kiss him again, his tongue playing lightly in Lukas’ mouth, sending small thrills under his skin. Etienne lifted Lukas’ shirt over his head and lay it carefully to the side.

“I am familiar with Aragonian _ vermút_, yes. It can be delightfully well-balanced.” He paused to search Lukas’ face, an anticipatory grin spreading over his countenance. “I am yours tonight, and I shall see to it that your cup overflows.”

“To the cross, then?” Etienne stood up in one fluid movement and held out his hands to Lukas as if he were inviting him to dance. Lukas took both and rose with similar D’Angeline grace, following Etienne to the large pair of crossed wooden beams in the corner. Lukas could feel his heart beating in his chest. 

Étienne was as attractive as Lukas remembered, if not more so. He was dressed in all black, from tunic to boots, and though his trousers were a supple leather, his shirt was a filmy fabric that Lukas couldn’t place. It was draped artfully, and drew his eyes to the form beneath. Lukas stopped staring long enough to place his own limbs to be bound, his heart pounding with excitement.

Etienne took his time strapping Lukas firmly to each wooden beam, skating palms over firm muscles in swift appreciation before delivering a hard slap to his buttocks; it wasn’t painful, but Lukas thrilled to the touch. Lukas marked the lingering gaze Étienne left on the close fit of his trousers and the bared skin above, and exhaled in happiness. 

Etienne walked back to the array of tools, and chose a long, supple flogger with simple leather tresses. He walked over and brushed it over Lukas’ shoulder lightly, tickling his cheek.

“Is this something you love? Do you enjoy the kiss of it against your skin?”

Lukas nodded, and he’d barely finished the motion before the first strike landed. He didn’t startle— this was too common an occurrence for that— but he did let out a sharp breath in expectation. 

The strikes landed repeatedly and increasingly sharply. A short sprint, then, to start their journey. Lukas grasped the burnished wood under his fingertips and flexed his back against the onslaught. He could feel the sweet sting of the tresses and the answering ripple under his skin. 

Lukas was, not for the first time, incorrect in his prediction of Étienne's course of action. The slap of the leather increased in intensity but decreased in speed; this was no quick run but a longer undertaking, and Etienne was stronger than he looked. Before long, Étienne took up a steady and regular rhythm, leaving Lukas breathless. He was bobbing beneath the waves of sensation, and twitched and shivered when he felt the tresses simply drag across his skin lightly without striking. 

When Lukas surfaced, he was dazzled by what he saw. A gust of effort left Étienne, and the full force of his lithe body was behind the swing; he let Lukas see it, as well as the grin that burst forth as the leather snapped hard against his skin. Pain bloomed from the spot, and tangled in Lukas' mind with the vision of Étienne's gleaming smile, the pale sheen of his skin, the refocused look as he swept damp hair from his face and leaned in to grab Lukas' chin and kiss him, swift and deep, his tongue sweeping into Lukas' mouth. 

Some of Mandrake House were ice and composure, holding themselves firm as they took their patrons apart in a shared worship of Kushiel's lash. 

But some, like Étienne, were spirited, messy whirlwinds of movement; Lukas had anticipated his unleashed joy but thrilled deep down to experience it firsthand. 

Etienne leapt back again, fully energized, weight on the balls of his feet, and as he moved back out of view Lukas closed his eyes and floated. The next few strikes were irregular and increasingly sharp, and Lukas heard a low, light laugh before the unexpected wetness of lips to his neck. The sudden contrast made Lukas' eyes fly open again, and he yearned to rut forward against the light padding at the center of the cross, but years of training allowed him just enough self-restraint to clench his muscles instead, releasing them with a breath. 

Nothing, it seemed, escaped this man's notice. The lightest touch of fingertips over his swelling hardness traced Lukas’ desire. Lukas bit into his lower lip to avoid pushing himself into the gloved hand, and was rewarded with a hum of approval and a firm squeeze.

Etienne stepped back, but soon Lukas felt hands slide around his hips, and the cool air met his skin as his trousers and undergarments were swept away. Étienne was methodical, unbinding one of Lukas' ankles and then the other to ease them off. 

He heard a small sound on the bed, but couldn't see what caused it from his bound position. Lukas took in a breath, though, at the feel of Étienne's bare hands on him, and realized the noise had been the light slap of discarded gloves. His skin was sensitive from the flogging and he felt every small dip and caress as Étienne traced his body. Lukas' muscles tensed and trembled at the touches. 

By the time Étienne drew close behind Lukas and wrapped his hands around to smooth over his chest, Lukas was pulling quick breaths in. Soft lips and tongue drew a low moan from Lukas, and he felt Étienne smile against his neck. 

"That's the first sound I've heard from you tonight since we began. It's beautiful. I'd like to hear more."

Lukas turned his head to ask for a kiss and was rewarded, not just with Étienne's mouth, but with the full line of his body, one hand grasped in the hair on top of Lukas' head, pulling it slightly loose from its carefully twisted knot, the fingers of his other hand smoothing along the side and sending shivers in their wake. 

Étienne's bare hands ran over his body, pulling at the small gleaming silver bars through Lukas' nipples and making him gasp. He withdrew swiftly, and Lukas tried to even his breathing, but the familiar scrape of a stopper from a bottle made it difficult. 

Skickened fingers teased between his cheeks, and Etienne whispered lightly in Lukas' ear. 

"May I?" 

Lukas nodded swiftly; then, before he could be told to verbalize, whispered a response. 

"Please?" 

The word, and the tone in which it had been delivered, unleashed something in Étienne, and he rubbed softly around Lukas' entrance gently while leaning in to deliver a sharp bite to his shoulder that was full of tongue. Étienne continued to kiss and nip Lukas' shoulder, tender and savage, and his fingers circled slowly. 

Lukas was buffeted back and forth between pleasure and pain. 

"I've been hard since you walked in here," Étienne murmured against his back. "I would love nothing more than to sate us both, right here, right now."

"But that is one of the many things Kushiel teaches us, is it not?" Étienne withdrew completely, but with a slight expression of regret at the loss of contact. 

"Discipline." 

Lukas vibrated with desire; he wanted nothing more in that moment than to be touched, to be flung over that peak of pleasure he'd been so quickly approaching. He flexed his thighs in frustrated bliss. 

The fingers returned, but the warm press of Étienne's body did not. Lukas barely had time to regret it before he unintentionally rewarded Étienne with another sound; his jaw dropped and a raw gasp fell from his lips as he felt one deft finger slide inside. 

Tiny shocks of pleasure radiated out and mingled with the electricity humming under Lukas' warmed, singing skin. 

"Adding sweetness to your cup is such a pleasure. I wonder, how much can you take for me before it overflows?" 

A second finger joined the first, and Lukas' voice rang out with abandon. He heard Étienne's breathing quicken, and one part of his mind felt victorious, but the thought was quickly replaced by a shock of pleasure flooding his brain. Étienne's deft fingers stroked lightly over the same spot again, and Lukas twitched in his bonds, cock leaking already. 

By routine practiced so long that it was almost instinct, Lukas refocused to calm himself. As he breathed, though, he remembered. This was _ his _ assignation, and he could simply chase pleasure wherever it was presented. No need to play any roles tonight unless he so desired. 

The fact that this thought crossed his mind at the same time as a third finger joined the other two was fortuitous, and Lukas rocked back to meet it, closing his eyes at the pleasure building. 

Etienne let out the lightest cackle, and murmured, "Disobedient," but didn't remove his hand. Lukas squirmed and gasped in wordless begging. A few strokes, another press of teeth, the whispered word, "Demanding," and Étienne was gone, just as the rhythm had started to swell. 

The trickle of water and a faint waft of amber-scented soap, and Étienne returned. 

The firm press of an _ aide d'amour _ reannounced his presence, and Lukas was once more the dutiful Valerian adept, holding perfectly still as it slid home.

One gloved hand circled his chest as the other moved the deliciously carved toy back, and forth, and Lukas trembled again in anticipation. This was no ordinary leather glove.

Tiny metal barbs bit into his skin as Étienne stopped teasing and squeezed. The pricks of sharp pain made Lukas' chest smart and tingle. When Étienne pulled his hand away, red marks remained, dotting Lukas' skin like the freckles of his Dalraidian cousins. Étienne flexed his fingers, and the tiny silver points embedded in the glove caught the light.

Dazed, Lukas looked down at the red dots on his chest set in the same pattern for the briefest moment before another sensation barreled its way into his consciousness. Étienne delivered a sharp smack to his backside, and accentuated by the metal points lining his fingers, it was particularly intense. 

Lukas shuddered, and air gusted through his teeth. He felt his arms flex and pull against his bonds almost without volition. Étienne saw it too, and his eyes flicked to the leather straps and then back to Lukas' face. 

He withdrew the delicious pressure of the _ aide d'amour_, drawing a near pout from Lukas. Étienne just grinned at it while he set about removing Lukas from the leather cuffs around his wrists and ankles. 

Feeling loose and a little slow, Lukas shifted his weight once his limbs were freed. He was surprised when Étienne slid down his body and pressed a lingering kiss to the head of his cock. Lukas was far from question or complaint, however, especially once Étienne started performing the _ languissement _ with such elegance and skill, he forgot everything else. 

Étienne crouched in front of him, and honey-fern eyes glowed up at him with a confidence and insolence that made shocks run under Lukas' skin. His tongue curled around Lukas' cock with practiced expertise but also enthusiasm. Long, dark lashes swept down, contrasting against the paleness of his skin, and Lukas combed fingers gently through dark locks as his own eyes closed in bliss. He lost himself in the sensations blooming from the wet warmth of Étienne’s mouth, before, all too soon, it was taken away again. 

All clever, smirking Mandrake dignity, Étienne stalked a few steps away, simply appreciating the heavily muscled form in front of him. Lukas should have felt at odds, stripped completely bare while Étienne roamed the room fully clothed. But the way Étienne admired him, Lukas felt nothing but adored. He stood a little straighter. 

As if reading his mind, Étienne looked at him with an imperious glance, and curled a finger toward him. 

"Undress me."

The words were simple, but Lukas thrilled to the tone of command like it was his own name. He made as elaborate a show of it as he could, but he knew his quick breaths and eager hands gave him away. Still, there were enough flourishes and graceful movements that Lukas still felt a credit to those who had trained him. 

He'd taken long enough to earn some impatience from his partner in this dance, which made him grin. As Étienne's hand rested heavily on his shoulder, in an echo of the gesture that had started the evening, Lukas already felt himself descending in eager compliance. 

The scent of leather filled his nose, completing the full assault on all of Lukas’ senses. Despite his well-honed obedience, it took effort now not to stroke himself as he took Étienne into his mouth in one motion, cupping one firm, smooth cheek in each hand to pull him closer. Lukas buried his nose in dark curls, inhaling Étienne's scent and making a small sound he was sure sounded calculated, but was not. 

Étienne pushed fingers into his hair again and pulled it loose, watching coppery waves cascade over Lukas' shoulders. Lukas felt worshiped once again; for himself as well as his talents, and he glowed. 

A hand tightened in Lukas' hair again, pulling him up with impatience. The stern, measured manner Étienne had displayed earlier had slipped, displaying a raw desire that fueled the want swelling inside Lukas as well. 

They were of one mind: rough kisses and roving hands, and the occasional uneven step toward Étienne's lavish bed when they remembered where they were. The familiar trappings of formality and ritual tumbled over a waterfall of passion. Lukas felt more exposed than when he'd stood naked, but he was too consumed by the rush of their need to be disconcerted. A soft, velvety coverlet kissed Lukas' stinging back as Étienne laid him back gently. 

"There is a drink I quite enjoy, myself; it is from Siovale." Étienne's words were breathless, and he reached down to brush a long lock of flame-kissed hair from Lukas' face. 

Lukas just nodded, and laced his fingers through Étienne's, resting their clasped hands next to his head. 

"It is nothing but sweetness." He drew Lukas' leg back to slide into him and claim his mouth in one fluid motion. 

"The intense, undiluted honeyed taste is…quite something." Étienne gasped, and trembled, and Lukas thrilled at both the sense of fullness and the delicate vulnerability in the wide hazel eyes above him. He reached up to pull Étienne down, and the building, straining pleasure inside Lukas finally snapped and broke. 

They tumbled together in a noisy cavalcade of Naamah's praise, and Lukas' perception passed in flashes of small moments: the brush of Étienne's hair against Lukas' neck as he curled over him; the touch of fingers against Lukas' forehead as he threw his head back in joy; the intense throb and heat as Étienne released inside him; the tingling press of lips, slick against his own. 

As their breaths grew slower, still entwined in one another, Lukas recalled that both Kushiel and Elua had been called guilty of loving their earthly subjects too well. He laughed, feeling bliss and tendrils of something deeper spread through his chest. When he turned his head, shining pine-gold eyes caught his own. Étienne's head was pillowed next to him, and Lukas just held his gaze as they lay together. 

* * *

A delicately embroidered black velvet bag was delivered, with two compartments; a gift in itself. Lukas noticed the three intertwined keys of House Shahrizai, in and among trailing vines and the pointed leaves of House Mandrake's titular flower, as well as deep crimson poppies that Lukas wondered at. Inside were two bottles, cushioned by velvet so as not to knock against each other. Nestled in one compartment was a deep red Aragonian _ vermút_, and Lukas smiled and tingled at the memory. 

The other compartment carried a honey-amber tinted liquid. Lukas lifted it out, and it was chilled. The label identified it as a Siovalese _ eisswine_, and Lukas' grin grew deeper. 

The note inside requested—not an assignation, but a frivolity. Étienne suggested they share one or both of these bottles over dinner, followed by an evening in the eastern Courceline gardens, where a traveling lute player from Alba would be playing. 

Lukas' smile softened, and he realized Étienne had paid careful attention to his sleepy, sated murmurings about music as he’d drifted off in the adept’s bed, following some of the most tender aftercare Lukas thought he had ever received. He was flattered and pleased, and felt an excited flush rise to his cheeks.

A few Valerian adepts moved unobtrusively through their common room, and one peered around him, as most were, too short to peek over his shoulder. She surveyed the bag he held and likely would have elbowed him good-naturedly if the Dowayne hadn’t been sitting in a chair reading nearby.

"Back to Mandrake House with you, then?" Her dark, almost black waves were curled to perfection, and they danced near her pale, bared shoulders in graceful undulations, springing and bobbing as she talked. She was wearing a simple shift, but was preparing, as several adepts were, for the arrival of a small group from those in Kushiel's service this evening. 

Lukas well knew that as the hour grew nearer she would don an intricate garment of her own devising, one of her dark confections of lace and straps that would contrast with the alabaster tones of her skin. He mused at the fortunate patrons who would be graced with her presence this evening. 

House pride aside, she seemed to be smirking at him. 

"Did you happen to peek inside this when it arrived, Mercyclaire?" His grin was easy and unbothered. 

"Me?" Her laugh was a clear bell. "For once, no. It was the lovely stitching on the outside that gave you away." 

Lukas nodded in acknowledgement. "I will be back, I suppose, but not for an assignation." He turned the cool, tawny bottle over in his hand again and watched it catch the light. "For something else, I think." 

Mercy grinned knowingly and drifted toward her chambers. "Love as thou wilt, my friend. I wish you joy of it.”

He bowed his head again and blushed as she glided from the room, and slid the bottle back into its fanciful bag. The invitation was for the following week, and he could hardly wait. 

**Author's Note:**

> Mercy belongs to [Aliatori](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliatori/) \- thank you very much for letting me borrow her!
> 
> I'm still in the process of reading the Kushiel's Legacy series, so my apologies if any of the lore details are off. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! <3 Comments and kudos are love. You can find me on Twitter.


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